


carriage

by forcefields



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/F, Short One Shot, bottom!evie, this is so self-indulgent oh my lord, top!lucy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 07:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11413122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcefields/pseuds/forcefields
Summary: this is temptation's tryst.





	carriage

She shouldn't be here. Morally, and logically, the act in which Evie Frye indulges herself is wrong. Yet on the contrary, nothing about it is moral or logical to begin with. It's instinctual - and she has fully surrendered to her instincts.

The carriage is docked in an unpopulated alley, far from prying eyes and ears. The only individuals present to account for the activities are herself and...Lucy Thorne.

The all-godly, ungodly Lucy Thorne and Evie are sharing a space without desiring one another's death for once. 'Tis a rare occasion, indeed, and of celebration in origin; ‘celebration’, through the body and its reactions.

The Assassin currently finds herself situated beneath the Templar, fully exposed to the early morning's chill coming through the carriage's curtains, and to the devilish lady looming above. The redhead's hands skirt the planes of her lover's chest, purposefully, wickedly avoiding her breasts for a while, until the brunette cannot take her teasing and pleas lightly for mercy. Following a little laugh of triumph, Thorne lowers her lips to each of Evie's buds, one after the other with careful attention enough to extract the sort of sounds she had only previously heard in dreams. Evie, powerless yet pleasingly perplexed, pushes her wrists up against the grips of Lucy's hands, white-knuckled from the effort of keeping her in place. Craning her neck ever so slightly, she whispers in a reddened left ear: "Please, please -"

Her partner stops at once, biting lightly upon a sweet spot Evie did not know she had and extracting from the female Frye a sharp gasp. With no further movements from who could quite possibly be her murderess, the brunette draws her blue eyes down to far darker ones. It is then she truly acknowledges how fast and tight she breathes.

"Please," Lucy repeats in a curt, clipped tone, "what?"

Evie squeezes her eyes shut, taking a brief moment to formulate the best possible response - nothing less for Lucy - when words she should never speak come to mind. They are not filthy; they are not derogatory nor obscene, unlike this situation. They're...pure, mostly. And that frightens her, frightens her more than anything in the world. More than one of Jacob's wretched gang wars, or this secret war in which they play vital parts. She swallows deeply. Evie Frye never speaks before she thinks with level-head, careful intricacy and absolute analysis. This situation, however, is to be the first example where she does not.

Parting her lips, she vocalises what instinct tells her to.

"Make love to me."

Initially, Lucy blinks, otherwise unresponsive, and her lover immediately believes all is lost. Secondly, her gaze fixes on Evie's, and the latter's heart only races faster, rushing into the deep unknowns of unpredictability. How could she forget, after all, that that was what defined Starrick's best woman completely? No doubt their tryst is a game to her; Evie does not care. Although she isn't certain how she - her body and her mind, perhaps even her soul - perceive such strange circumstances, it does not matter currently. The only thing that matters is the phrase she's just made loud and clear. Awaiting Lucy's third reaction, the Assassin does not break their eye contact, even when the Templar smirks as the Devil would do, relieves her grip and retracts her body from her lover's.

Evie pushes her hands into the purple velvet composing the seat she's been straddled on, sitting up for a few seconds, only to be pushed firmly back down. She does not fight back, arching her spine at a slight angle and anxiously anticipating God-knows-what Ms. Thorne has planned. Feeling a warm breeze of breath brush across her womanhood, the brunette finds himself whimpering. She knows what is to come - she has never experienced it personally, but she is aware of -

"Oh - !"

Her spine arches further. Her nails dig into the smooth fabric, likely to tear it. Her eyes squeeze shut and the softest but sharpest gasp escapes her mouth. Evie Frye has never felt something quite like this before. And she knows, yes, right then and there, she has to experience it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Would you like to see a Jacob Frye version of this? (With another character, of course.) If so, please comment below - with a suggestion for his partner as well, since I'm not quite sure who's best suited to him. (": Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed reading! ❤


End file.
